


a song, high above the trees

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: This is just a glob of Christmas fluff that's mostly Carol/Rosita friendship fic with a little Caryl thrown in at the beginning because that's how my shippy self rolls.





	a song, high above the trees

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is a prompt fill for @tarascarol on tumblr. She asked for Carol & Rosita (just friends) and gave me the lyric, “I wish I could feel things like you." The title is from "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year."

“You sure you don’t wanna forget about the cookies ‘til later and come upstairs with me for ten minutes?” Daryl slid both his hands under the hem of her shirt, warm calloused fingers brushing her ribs and then her stomach as his wandering touch moved closer to the button on her jeans.

“Ten whole minutes?” She wiggled out of his grasp, careful to put some friction in all the right places.

“Haven’t seen you in almost a week,” he mumbled, brushing a finger down the back of her neck before he leaned in to whisper against her ear, “Just tryin’ to be realistic.”

She licked a glob of peanut butter cookie dough off the spoon and turned to face him, grinning as she took in his expression, which was caught somewhere between the look he usually gave her when he was about to pull her into his arms and cuddle her until they fell asleep and the look he usually gave her when he was about to get her out of her clothes as fast as possible and put his hands and mouth all over her until she couldn’t breathe, much less think.

Bouncing up on her toes a little, she brushed her lips over his and said, her voice low even though she was pretty sure they were alone in the house, “Or we could compromise.” His hands drew her hips closer to his, and she didn’t fight it. “I’ll finish these cookies and make dinner. But it’s Aaron and Eric’s night to clean up, which means we could go to bed early.” The eagerness in his eyes combined with his hips pressing into hers made her want to forget all about compromises and cookies, but it was only two days until Christmas (or as close as they could figure anyway), and she’d promised Carl she’d do what she could to come up with something like those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kisses in the middle.

“Early like right after dinner?”

She raised an eyebrow. “If you want.”

He took her face in his hands, tilting it up towards his. “I definitely want,” he muttered before his lips were on hers, warm and soft, the piece of chocolate he’d stolen mixing with the peanut butter cookie dough when the tip of his tongue stroked hers, and she made a low, needy noise.

“Cookies are delicious,” he whispered into her mouth, pushing her back against the counter.

“Shut up,” she murmured, her thoughts getting fuzzier as her cheeks heated and she felt her heart tapping too rapidly against his chest.

The decisive slam of the kitchen door startled them instantly apart. Rosita was standing there, arms across her chest, wearing an expression of boredom mixed with a tinge of amused disdain and . . . something else Carol couldn’t quite categorize. 

“Just want a glass of water.” Rosita strode past them and lifted to her tiptoes to reach the biggest glasses on the top shelf. “And then I’ll let you two get right back to it.”

“Daryl was just leaving,” said Carol, shooting him a pointed look and stepping back far enough that he couldn’t reach her.

“You and I clearly have a very different definition of that word,” Rosita shot back, shoving the faucet handle up to fill her glass.

“I’m outta here.” Daryl’s face was tinted slightly pink, but it made Carol feel warm all over to notice that he didn’t look ashamed or even particularly concerned that Rosita had caught them making out.

Progress.

He leaned forward to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Later then, you promised.” His words were so soft that she almost didn’t hear them.

Almost.

He gave her a tiny, one-side smile as he grabbed his bow off the floor and fled.

Carol turned back to the cookies, spooning out a chunk of dough and rolling it between her palms.

“You want some help?” Rosita gulped down the last few swallows of her water and flipped on the tap to wash her hands.

Carol glanced up, puzzled. “I didn’t know you liked baking.”

“I don’t.”

“So why do you wanna help?” She dropped the mostly rounded ball of dough on the cookie sheet and reached for some more. “I’m fine finishing up here.”

“I don’t feel like being alone.” Her words hung in the quiet air of the kitchen.

Carol stopped and looked at her for a second, wondering why Rosita had chosen this specific moment to be so blunt. Then she nodded. “It’s really easy. Just take about this much dough- (she extended her hand to demonstrate) and then roll it until it’s reasonably close to round.” She deposited the finished product on the cookie sheet. “It doesn’t have to be perfect or anything.”

For a few minutes they worked together in silence, the only sounds in the kitchen the background hum of the refrigerator and the Andy Williams Christmas CD Carol had put on before she started. He was in the middle of “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” full orchestra and choir backing him up.

“Who the hell tells ghost stories on Christmas?” Rosita blew a strand of hair out of her face as she attacked the ball of dough in her hand with what seemed to Carol like unnecessary ferocity.

“What?”

“That stupid line. Something about ‘scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long long ago.’”

Carol pulled in a breath, expecting the familiar ache that bloomed in her chest before it had a chance to fully form. “Sophia hated that line, too.” She scooped more dough onto her spoon. “She said whoever wrote it could have come up with something less creepy.”

“Smart kid.”

“Yeah. She was.” Carol swallowed. The song switched to “Silver Bells” and the relief that washed over her made her feel almost silly.

“Why’d you come back?”

“You’re in a talkative mood.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosita dropped her second perfectly-formed sphere on the cookie sheet and looked over at Carol. “Sometimes shit comes out of my mouth and I don’t even think.”

“I don’t mind. I’m just curious why.”

Rosita paused, resting her hands on the counter and staring at the cookie dough with a faraway look. “It’s been really hard for me to settle down since-“ She glanced up again, redirecting her sentence. “But you seem a lot less . . . “

“Bitchy?” Carol offered with a smirk.

Rosita grinned. “I was gonna say, ‘Touchy,’ but sure.”

“I needed some time away. To think.” She paused for a few beats before adding, “And maybe a break from taking care of everyone.”

“But here you are, baking enough cookies to feed a small militia.”

Carol let the steely edge that sharpened Rosita’s words slide. “Lori used to make those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kisses in them every Christmas. Carl says they’re his favorite, so I figured why not try?” She shot a glance at the unevenly broken chunks of dark chocolate sitting on a plate to her left. “They won’t be as pretty, but hopefully it’s the thought that counts.”

“My abuela used to make candy canes,” Rosita said after a long pause. “You know the kind where you have to split the dough in half, then dye part of it red and twist the red and white dough together?”

Carol nodded. “I tried them once and it was a disaster.” She laughed. “Attempting those with a four-year-old assistant turned out to be a terrible idea.”

“I doubt I was much older than that when my abuela started making me help her, and goddamn if she wasn’t pickier than the lord himself.” Rosita licked the tip of her finger and started on another cookie. “All I ever did was grumble under my breath and wait to be finished. When I was little I wanted to watch cartoons, and when I got older I wanted to go to the mall with my friends or try to impress some asshole guy.” She shook her head. “I don’t even remember his name. Jack? Jake? Something like that.”

Carol remained quiet, reorganizing the peanut butter balls so she could fit the final two on the cookie sheet.

“I never just appreciated the time,” Rosita said after the silence had stretched out. “There are so many questions I wish I’d asked her. About what things were like when she was a little girl. About where she learned to grow every flower I could think of. There’s so much shit I wish I-“ She cut herself off, pushing her hair away from her face.

“Did she die before-“

“Yeah, breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” Carol paused in the middle of filling the sink to wash the dishes and waited until Rosita’s eyes (red and a little shiny) rose to meet hers.

“I miss her.” Rosita cleared her throat and stood up straighter, rubbing at her peanut-butter covered fingers with a paper towel. “But I’m glad she never had to see any of this.”

“Yeah.”

Andy Williams had moved on to “Do You Hear What I Hear?” Carol finished filling the sink, white mountains of soapy froth rising toward her as steam shifted and vanished into the air.

“I guess that’s the main reason I came back,” she said, searching for the sponge in the suds. “I didn’t want another endless list of ‘What Ifs?’ to deal with.”

“Well Daryl definitely didn’t look confused when he left,” Rosita retorted, but this time there was no edge to her words, and the corner of her mouth tilted up a touch. “Horny maybe, but not con-“

“Okay! Would you like to play Scrabble while we wait to put in the next batch?” Carol cut the other woman’s sentence in half, ignoring the pink she knew was in her cheeks as she walked over to the cupboard filled with games.

Rosita offered her a self-satisfied smirk. “Sure, but prepare to get your ass kicked. I was reigning champion at my high school for three years running.”

Carol dropped the Scrabble box on the counter, tiles jingling faintly inside. “Well, you should have seen my Words With Friends rank.”

Rosita dried the last of the water off her fingers, hung the reindeer-print dish towel over the stove door, and pulled out one of the wooden stools. “Bring it on.”


End file.
